Disclaimer: Unquestionably not mine.

Love, Harry
Chapter 7 – Dear Harry

Dear Harry,

There are a million ways I could begin this, but none could ever fully express what I wish I could tell you right now. I should say that I hope this letter finds you well, but truthfully I do not know whether it shall find you at all. I suppose I'll just have to do as you did when you first addressed Sirius and take it on faith this reaches you in good health and happiness.

I must say, when I saw you in the forest during the Battle of Hogwarts, I noticed a few things. Sirius, Remus, and Albus always mentioned how alike we looked; me personally, I didn't see it. My nose is a tad longer. Your hair's less scruffy. My forehead's a bit taller. But I still recognized you. You've got your mother's eyes.

Wait. Sirius said it annoyed you when people said that. I'm sorry; I should have remembered. I need more practice at this parenting thing, I suppose. It's… unfortunate, to say the least, that your mother and I didn't get more time to get better at it.

Ever since I died, I've been asking myself what-ifs. What if we hadn't switched our Secret-Keeper – would have been betrayed eventually anyway? What if I had remembered to grab my wand when I ran from the living room to face him on that Halloween night? What if he had managed to kill your mother before she had her chance to sacrifice her life for yours?

But those don't matter, I suppose. If wishes were fishes… as the old saying goes. Blimey, I don't even know what I'm talking about anymore. I used to be so good at writing letters. I've never written one like this, though.

I remember the first time you saw me; it was in that mirror back in your first year at Hogwarts. I'm glad you didn't spend too much time in front of that thing. I found it one time in my fifth year; spent a few weeks staring into it and it took a good punch from Sirius to bring my head back to reality.

And then again, in your fourth year, after the third task of the Triwizard Tournament… I'd never been more scared for you. I can honestly say that you handled that with more bravery than I could ever find in myself.

In regards to my Hogwarts years, since I know that's what ailed you most in regards to who I was when I was your age… You were right, Harry. I was arrogant. I was a bully. I don't deny those things, and I can't justify what I did. I suppose it wouldn't do me any good if I said that Severus himself never lost a chance to goad Sirius or me; I should have been the better man. But I was young and stupid. And I was so incredibly happy to see that you weren't as I was at that age. I'm so proud of you for not making excuses, even for me. You knew your morals and you stuck to them. Really, that's what a hero is, in the end. I know you probably don't like being called such, but please grant me the permission to just this once, at the very least. It's been a while since I've been a dad, and I've never been able to brag about my son's accomplishments at luncheons.

Speaking of being a dad – I hear that Ginny and you are expecting, and I send my sincerest congratulations and best wishes. I humbly suggest James if it is a lad, if he's to be the clever mischief-making sort, though I might imagine there are some (whose Animagus may be a big, black dog-like shape) who might raise an objection to it on the grounds of nepotism while not-so-subtly suggesting his own name for consideration. In contrast to your dear late father's heartfelt advice, he also counsels you against anything beginning with J and ending in ames, in the hopes of preventing widespread destruction caused by the large gusts of wind that would no doubt result from all of the heads turning in unison at our family dinners.

Before I conclude this, your mother encloses her love; this ought to be a heavy letter.

Oh, and Sirius, Remus, and your friend Fred send you their warmest wishes as well; and, in the case of the latter, a large theoretical box of Dr Filibuster's Fireworks. He says that you'd understand the joke.

Albus – bloody hell, everyone sends a big whopping cargo of oozing warm sentiments, and I'm running out of space on the page. I'll wrap this up.

I'd like to say that I don't blame you at all for deciding to stop writing. None of us do; we all understand. You should live your life. After all that you've done, you deserve it.

And for what it's worth: it's never too late or, in your case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There's no time limit; you can stop and start whenever you want. You can change or stay the same. All I hope is that you live a life you're proud of; and if you find that you're not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.

Do not think of Tom Riddle, or of illness, or what you have lost. The universe is large, and you are young; I'm certain that you'll find happiness in this world, as your mother and I have managed to do in spite of all. We are so proud of you. We love you, Harry. We've always loved you.

The best of luck until we shall meet, and I shall embrace you as a son.

All my love,

Dad